"No mom, I'm not coming home tonight."

What kind of ****** up world would we live in, if we could just be honest there would be no- fun.

"I'm doing really ****** in school Dad, and I know I'm wasting your money, but I don't really care."

If I could pay someone to teach me about living...well I doubt I'd need a degree to help me get the job so why would I do that?      
                                                     ­                There are shortages in that industry.

When you dance for me I get that special funny feeling like you're my masterpiece performing yourself for everyone around me, but really just for me.

It's like your eyes weren't blue until you looked me in mine, and when I let you take that with you, you put a spin on me that no one could handle if it was me dancing.

As far as I can remember, my mom made empty promises. So sarcasm was my first language.



"Trust me, I make all this up as I go along and sometimes my mouth doesn't move as fast as my river but I'm tryin' now."

For as long as I can remember knowing what you look like, I've wanted to talk to you.
Just to have your voice soothe its way into only my ears for at least one sentence...oh man that would be heavenly.

And one day I saw you trying to speak...to me...but you couldn't remember my name.

It was because I'd never told you my name. You'd heard it from some faraway place. And I hope what they said about me was all good and that it was true. But there's about as much chance for me to get lost as there is for you if we look for each other.

...just listen.
I'll call you soon.



I saw a glove on the ground walking home today. Someone had forgotten about it and left it on the street. It reminded me a lot of you.

"It never would've worked."
That's what you heard yourself saying.
                                               And.

You probably lied to yourself a lot. and I'm happy for you.

"It's ok. We can love each other. Even when people are watching."
he said to the sky. as it wept, deep in thoughts of a better time.

Time is a system.



"We need to go to the mountains and sing to the owls"
"There ain't no owls in the mountains"
"I seen't um!"

We've all been drunk on something or other.

"It’s like the fright I have to say what I want to say is gone but so is the intelligence"

I'm glad it was on you.



Son, there comes a time in every young boys life...when he must be beaten. Mercilessly. With many malicious matters and masses. Until he becomes beautiful.
"...yew ***** *****..."

He was so concerned about becoming a man, he forgot the basic human emotions learned in childhood.

Without you, I would never know what it was like to stop going. And then race myself to the end because I was the only one left with the stamina to finish. the performance.



Time is a system.
"I feel like people will be hurt tonight."

At times you crossed in front of me, at times behind, sometimes in reality, sometimes in my mind.

When time was busy, cleaning the house, performing menial and necessary chores, you were nowhere to be found. Probably out at play in the poppy fields, or the fields of yellow tall grass or the forest by the brook.

And when time was at dinner, entertaining friends, enemies, lovers, and other times...you were nowhere to be found, but you left evidence that you were around. Muddy boots by the front door, toys hazardously placed at the top of the stairwell, careless giggles from down the hallway at obscure thoughts.

And when time was running out...and it was raining...you were right outside. Under an umbrella, with room for one more.




Matris silva , incubo vestri liberi.



We're all waiting for heaven. Looking for that band of angels come to take us away. Hoping they'll notice us with the things we don't do, the way we don't act, the people we don't talk to.
But the angels...
      
                                                ­           they're all around us.
                                                           lookin' for each other.


Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin' for to carry me home.
Swi-i-ing low, sweet chariot
Comin' forto carry me home.

and If you arrive there before me
Comin' for to carry me home.
Tell all my friends that I'm flyin' free
Comin' forto carry them home.

.
                           "I pull him
                         deeper in my
                        mouth so I can
                       feel  him  at  the
                        back of my thro
                        at and  then  to
                        the front again.
                        My tongue  swi
                        rls   around the
                        end.   He's   my
                        very own Chris
                        tian   Grey- flav
                        ored     popsicle.
                        I    ****   harder
                        and   harder . . .
                         . . . Hmmm . . .
                         my   inner   god
                         dess    is   doing
             the merengue      with some salsa
        moves. " " You'r e   so    deliciously wet
         god I want you  I '  m going to *******
            now Ms. Steele      hard . . .   come
                   for       me               Ana."

I wish inspiration could be injected
intravenously, without delay. That
I could wrap a rubber band around
   my arm and pull it tight with my
teeth. Then give myself several swi-
ft slaps with my middle and index
fingers to the inside crook of my arm
to pop the vein. Then without look-
ing, (because I am afraid of needles)
slowly insert the thin metal spear in
my skin and puncture the vein. Draw
back a bit of blood and watch it mix
with my concoction. Then voila: ins-
   tant inspiration.

        If only I could buy words by the bot-
tle, so I could guzzle them down by
the quart. And they could mix and
swirl, swash and stir, with all my
other ****** fluids. They could seep
into my veins, via my stomach lining,
and warm my body with a toxic glow.
The words would blur my vision, mu-
ddy my senses, and stumble my step.  
Then, after I consume more words th-
an I can handle, I would projectile vo-
mit and spew the words all over the
page. Then the next morning I could
rearrange the words into something
   remotely coherent.

But there is no such luck.

Instead I have to go toe-to-toe with
each word, each syllable, with the
utmost precision and vigilance.
And let me tell you, these word “St-
ing like a butterfly and float like a
bee”. I give a left jab, a right hook,
a shot to the kidneys, but it does
no good. Most of the time I am on
   my heels; forced to be on the defense
But of course I take a hit, or twenty-
two. Until I am punch drunk,
and everything is brilliant to me.

Swi you are my flame, you are my fire. You warm me up, and burn me with desire.
Your touch as petal, relieving my tire.
Am blest for my need for you is dire.

Skin as sapphire, eyes as two doves.
Lips so succulent, flowing fresh oases
Hips as curves, wells of desires
Perfection in a person, one who is my beloved.

Between the crooks and nannies
In a booth with seven *******
There's no way they could stand me                                                                              se cre t swi mm ing
pools
Heathen if they're understanding                                                                   a bed wetting fool
Could that mean they understand me                                                                            I'm sure I'd Right that too
I hear a lot about our standings                                                     If I had nothing Left to say
but what I think will be standing                                                          
is the dust particles of landings
and the Sun light filling crackings                                                                                            away  
I'm too good for the attackings                                                    
I understand my lackings                                                                        and     then we float
Got a tenacious grasp for love love love love love  Stacking bodies to the flood





Limb to a tree
     Flower to a bee
          You to a meeeeee
and eye to eye
     I have left myself dry on and Island watching the 4th of July
                 Why oh why Did I ever lead that guy into a terrible lie

Mask to a Foe
         Mask of a Friend
                 Do you ask to wear it well or can I see you again

t
          ire
                    swi  
                                ngs
                                      and s    i    d     e    w    a    l   k    s      
                                                etc.
up
||
fill


my
mind
through-------------------mytime

you're so
precious
so beautiful
like diamonds only
m  o r  e    s  o

as the sun shines

d
o
w
n

n
o
p
u

the ro
cks

death and destr/ction
may devour my mind
but no one can take my time
and etc etc tire swings and sidewalks fill my mind
beauty and your lips on mine

and beautiful I think we're doing just fine